


Tertialed Hearts

by AlexiaBlackbriar13



Series: Flying High [5]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Wings, Angst, Breaking Up & Making Up, Childhood Trauma, Courtship, Darkfic Prompt and Reunion Prompt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kissing, Mental Health Issues, Oliver Queen Has PTSD, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Past Suicidal Thoughts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prompt Fill, Quarantine and Chill Fic Drive, References to Depression, THIS HAS A HAPPY ENDING LIKE I PROMISED, Triggers, Wing Grooming, Winged Oliver Queen, Wingfic, Wings, past suicidal ideation, this will have a happy ending i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23265520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexiaBlackbriar13/pseuds/AlexiaBlackbriar13
Summary: Oliver experiences a huge trigger for his PTSD and depression, and struggles to deal with it emotionally, pushing his courting partner away. All Felicity wants is to support and comfort him.A twoshot set in theFlying Highuniverse that the author apologizes for because you will most definitely need tissues reading it.
Relationships: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak
Series: Flying High [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/365216
Comments: 88
Kudos: 166
Collections: Quarantine and Chill Fic Drive 2020





	1. Conflict

**Author's Note:**

> for the Quarantine and Chill Fic Drive
> 
> part 1: Conflict (darkfic prompt)  
> part 2: Resolution (reunion prompt)
> 
> .......... im so sorry
> 
> **PLEASE read and heed the trigger warnings in the tags.**

Felicity is about to clamber into bed, exhausted and needing to get a proper night’s sleep so she can get up for an early morning meeting, when she gets the call from Diggle about Oliver. Her heart immediately begins pounding with anxiety in her tightening chest as her friend and teammate gravely informs her that she’s needed at the Foundry.

The streets aren’t particularly busy since it’s nearing eleven pm, which is good, because Felicity is distracted with worry while driving over to the Glades. Oliver was only meant to go out on a routine patrol tonight; the winged vigilante has been wearing himself rather thin lately and agreed with her and Diggle that he would take it easy over the next week or so. He’s only recently emerged from a stressful half-molt period. Felicity struggled as his molt companion to help him through it this time, due to his restlessness; it’s the middle of the summer, and the fact that the nights are so short mean that Oliver barely finds time to fly anymore. He has to use the cover of darkness mostly for vigilante activities.

According to Diggle, Oliver arrived back at the Foundry around twenty minutes ago covered in blood, completely silent and flinching and snarling at every sound or movement. He headed straight into the bathroom - and hasn’t emerged. He’s growled fiercely behind the door like an injured, feral animal every time Diggle has approached to ask if he’s okay. Although Diggle is certain he isn’t injured, he’s calling the big guns in to hopefully get the vigilante to open up.

But Felicity is apprehensive. If Oliver came home covered in blood, he probably had to fight somebody, and maybe even kill them. Trauma like that triggers his PTSD, plunging him into terrible flashbacks and panic attacks. They don’t exactly know why - even Oliver doesn’t really know, but they presume it’s because of his abusive childhood, when he was experimented on and given his wings. When her partner gets trapped in his own head, lost in his darkest and most troubling thoughts, he becomes snappish and defensive. It can be difficult to calm him down from that kind of state. Often he just wants to be alone to lick his wounds.

“He’s still in the bathroom,” Diggle tells her in a grim voice, when she finally tiptoes down the metal staircase into the Foundry. He’s sitting in her chair at her computer set-up, hands entwined and resting his lap. The tension in his shoulders is indicative of his concern. “I don’t know what happened. When I tried to question him, he hissed at me.”

She nods, murmuring that she’ll try and encourage him to come out. She’s not very hopeful, though. Felicity’s eyes widen when she sees that there are a handful of crimson-stained white down feathers littered on the floor, droplets of dried blood painting a trail from the back entrance all the way to the bathroom door. Is the blood Oliver’s? Or is it somebody else’s?

She knocks gently, in an attempt not to startle her partner. She hears no movement from within, not even the rustle of his wings. “Oliver? Honey? It’s me. Do you wanna let me in?” Silence. “Okay, then do you want to come out?” This time, there is a response. The sink turns on. It’s a clear dismissal. Felicity tries not to feel offended. “Alright, I’ll be waiting out here after you finish cleaning off. I know something happened, and if you don’t want to talk about it, I understand and I will respect that. But I don’t think you should be by yourself right now. I just wanna make sure you’re safe.”

 _And not going to hurt yourself_ , she finishes in her head, swallowing uneasily. She hasn’t known Oliver to actively self-harm before but given the intensity of his depressive episodes sometimes, she’s terrified as somebody who loves and cares for him that one day he’ll fall off the ledge.

Diggle heaves a sigh when she returns to him with a hopeless shrug. The lines of tiredness on his face are visible and the man looks just about ready to collapse and sleep for ten years, so Felicity quietly suggests that he heads home. Diggle protests initially, exclaiming that he’s nervous to leave her alone with the winged vigilante given his dark mood, but after Felicity reassures him that Oliver would never hurt her, he agrees, his fatigue getting the better of him. It’s only once she’s alone at her computer station that Felicity begins frantically pulling up search programs to search for what could have happened that disturbed her partner so much. She finds, very quickly, a police call-out for a reported assault, but there’s no online data about it. That’s a big tell. The SCPD only ever keep information offline when Oliver has been involved in the case, in an effort to keep nosy government officials and the FBI away. 

Seeing that Detective Lance is one of the officers assigned to the case, she anonymizes her cell number and texts him; she informs him that it’s Featherhead’s carer (using Lance’s nickname for Oliver, and referring to what she called herself during their first phone conversation), asking for any intel on what happened. He’s swift to respond. And as Felicity reads, her heart sinks like a basalt boulder inside her chest, horror sweeping over her. Oliver attacked a couple who were viciously abusing their four-year-old foster son, and he killed the father. 

Apparently, this couple was on social services’ radar for a while now but they hadn’t managed to remove the child from his terrible situation, due to the father being a high-profile attorney. Lance reckons that Oliver must have been flying past on his patrol, heard or seen the couple beating the child, and broken into the apartment in an attempt to protect the boy. The dead father was found with a handgun in his grasp, two bullets lodged in the wall, so the theory is that he shot at the winged vigilante to defend himself. The arrested mother admitted to the abuse and informed them that Oliver attempted to de-escalate the situation, and killed her husband only after he threatened to shoot the four-year-old - who is now safe.

Felicity’s fingers tremble as she types out a short thank you in reply to Lance’s message, slowly placing her phone down on the counter. A heartbroken sob bursts from her throat as she drops her head down in her shaking hands. The reason Oliver’s PTSD has been triggered and he’s reacting so badly to this situation is because he sees _himself_ in that poor four-year-old. Oliver hasn’t told Felicity and Diggle much about his past or his childhood, but they do know that he was abused and experimented on as a kid. He has wings as a result of that - and a bucket-load of emotional trauma weighing on his shoulders along with the extra limbs. The past has come back to haunt him in the worst way possible; he’s been forced to kill somebody in defense of a helpless, injured child who reminds him of himself.

She’s so lost in thought that when the vigilante slips out of the bathroom, she startles at the sight of him. Immediately, her eyes widen in concern. “Oliver…” she breathes.

There is, fortunately, no trace of blood on him. He’s scrubbed all of it off in the sink. That doesn’t make him appear any less alarming. The shadow cast over his face makes him look weary, but stony. His expression is _blank_. His beautiful blue eyes that normally shine with curiosity and softness are cold and glassy, glinting with a frankly disquieting inhuman resolve. Oliver’s entire form is tensed like a live wire, showing that he’s agitated, as if he’s ready to bolt… or jump back into battle. He is, quite literally, prepared for a fight or flight response.

Given that he’s trying to hide his emotions using his human body language, Felicity turns her attention to his wings, which usually give away how he’s feeling. His dark green breeding plumage appears almost black as his feathers bristle angrily. The arch to his wings, puffing them out to make him look larger than he actually is, indicates he feels cornered. The silver tips to his primaries and secondaries are spread out, like tiny gleaming knives attached to the feathers. It’s threatening. His bird body language is aggressive. Felicity has to admit that for the first time since she’s met the vigilante, she’s a bit wary of him.

Upon hearing her whisper of his name, Oliver tilts his head at her. It’s extremely calculating and sends a chill down Felicity’s spine. When his eyes flit from her down to her cell phone, his icy eyes harden further. His wings flare out even more; she has to resist the urge to take a step back. “So you know what happened?” he asks, his voice flat.

“Yes,” she answers hesitantly. Felicity doesn’t want to lie to him, but isn’t sure what he wants to hear.

He nods, the gesture sharp. His eyes are piercing. “I killed a man.”

The impassive way he says it is unnerving, but Felicity is more distressed by the fact that he’s acting so frigid, brushing her off. “I know. And I know why you did it. I think killing is wrong in any circumstance, but I believe that YOU think you did what you had to do to protect that kid and yourself. I wasn’t there, so I don’t know what it was like in the room at the time, or whether or not you made the right choice. So I’m not going to judge you.”

For a brief, fleeting second, Oliver is shocked and shaken. He wasn’t expecting her to say something like that. His frightened, surprised face makes him look like a scared child who’s moral compass is still being established. Sometimes Felicity forgets that Oliver’s traumatic childhood has led to him being not so mentally and emotionally mature. His lost look smooths out quickly, however, as a ferocious snarl bubbles to his lips. “That’s all you have to say? I tell you that I’ve _murdered_ somebody and you just respond that you’re not going to judge me?”

This time, when his wings spread out and curl above her in an intimidating manner, Felicity’s heart skips a beat in panic and she subconsciously shuffles back. “Like I said, I wasn’t there,” she says, managing to school her voice to keep her fear out of it, “If you want to sit down with me, walk me through what happened, then maybe I can offer you my opinion. But I can tell you don’t really want to talk about it, so here I am - I’m your molt companion, your feather guardian, your _courting partner_ … I love you and I am going to support you no matter what.”

“I enjoyed it.”

Felicity inhales with a stutter. “What?”

“Killing him. I enjoyed it.” He’s staring at her. Watching for her reaction. Waiting for her rejection, probably. That’s never going to happen, but Felicity doesn’t know how to convince him of that. “How can you love somebody who enjoyed killing a man?”

“That man abused a four-year-old child,” she croaks. “Tortured him, for months. He threatened to shoot him tonight. But he didn’t, because you stopped him. And if the only way you could have stopped him was by killing him -”

“God _dammit, Felicity!_ ” Oliver roars, grabbing an abandoned steel hydroflask from the counter nearest to him and throwing it violently across the Foundry. Felicity jolts in place, frozen because Oliver has _never, ever_ become this frenzied around her before. She’s witnessing him losing control and it’s honestly terrifying. His wild behavior scares her.

“Oliver, I know you’re upset and angry right now, but I will not tolerate you flying into a rage and beginning to damage the equipment in here,” she informs him, in the strictest tone she manages to conjure.

He laughs bitterly. “You’re more worried about the _equipment_ than you are your own safety around me right now?”

“You would never hurt me,” she replies, completely certain of that. “You love me too much.” Oliver has flat out told her that before. He’s told her that he would rather die than harm her. She believes him.

“If somebody threatened you, I would kill them,” Oliver says. He’s breathless now, panting and sweating as what appears to be a panic attack starts up. His wings are trembling and drooping a little, but remain poised in a domineering position. “I would kill anybody who wanted or tried to hurt you. Doesn’t that petrify you? That I would be so willing to take a life to keep you safe? I love you more than a human being should love another human being. It’s not _normal_.” He smiles sadly, and that is what triggers ice to spread through Felicity’s blood. She can handle his fury and his pain, but his sorrow is something she’ll never be able to ease. “But I guess I’m not entirely human, and I’m definitely not normal.”

“I knew that when I fell in love with you, Oliver. That’s not new information for me.”

“You deserve better than me.” He lowers his dejected gaze to the ground. His wings rustle as they flop in submission. Oliver looks so _tired_. Turning away, he rubs his hands over his face, his flared wings shielding him from her view. “I think you should go. I - I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

Felicity blinks in bewilderment, confused as to what ‘this’ refers to. Seeing his hunched shoulders and the way he absolutely refuses to make eye contact with her, though, his expression shuttering once again… Felicity’s jaw drops, a horrified realization sweeping over her. “Oliver, are you breaking up with me?”

He tenses, and doesn’t verbally respond. She struggles to contain her panic and brewing anger. Oliver is meant to trust her as his partner, but instead of allowing her to support him, he’s pushing her away. He lashed out at her before, shouting at her, and now he’s retreating behind his emotional walls. Felicity has _always_ been able to reach him… she’s never felt so disconnected from him than now. She knows his erratic behavior is due to his PTSD, but she can’t help but feel devastated.

“Why?” she asks. “Can I at least ask you that?”

“It scares me,” he whispers. “How much I love you, it _terrifies_ me. I’ve never felt this way about anybody before. If I’m willing to kill somebody to protect an abused child I don’t know, then what would I be willing to do to protect you? I don’t know and I can’t handle _not knowing_. I have to have some level of control in my crazy life and my relationship with you is stable but my mental state is _not_.”

“Look, Oliver - I - I love you,” she says honestly. “I don’t want you to lose you as my courting partner. Under any other circumstance, I would insist on us not breaking up. But I know you’re upset after tonight, and not thinking rationally. We can put the breaks on our relationship so you can have time to properly think over whether you actually want to break up with me. I don’t want that, but if you ultimately decide that you think that’s what’s best for your mental health, then…” She can’t bring herself to finish the sentence, tears brimming in her eyes. “All I want if for you to be happy and healthy, okay? I’ve always thought that’s when you’re with me, but if in, say a week, you figure out that it’s not, then I will respect that.”

Oliver is crying too now. His wings jerk as he sobs out, “Please, Felicity, just go.”

Every inch of her screams that she needs to stay and take care of him, but Oliver doesn’t want her comfort right now; if he wants to be alone, she understands. But Felicity’s concern that he might do something he’ll regret later has never been greater. “I will,” she chokes. “But please promise me you’re not going to hurt yourself or storm back out onto the streets recklessly and get yourself shot out of the sky. If you die, I won’t be able to live with myself.”

“Yes, you will.”

“Wanna bet?” she forces a tearful laugh.

“I used to say the same thing to Sara,” Oliver replies, his eyes dark and haunted. “And I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Felicity’s heart breaks for him all over again, fracturing into shattered pieces that she knows will remain with the winged vigilante in the Foundry once she leaves. She wonders if she’ll ever be able to pick them back up and knit her heart back together if Oliver decides to break up with her for good. She’s never given herself so completely to somebody or loved someone with her heart and soul so deeply before in her life. She doesn’t know if she ever will again. “Do you promise you won’t hurt yourself or do something stupid?” she presses for an answer.

He gives her a short nod. “Yes.”

“Can I kiss you before I go? Please?” she murmurs.

Oliver says nothing in response, the silence heavy between them, but he doesn’t protest. Felicity nearly stumbles over her feet as she slowly approaches him, worried that if she moves too quickly, he might bolt. Their height difference is emphasized due to the fact that she’s wearing flats instead of heels, and Felicity has to crane her neck once she steps into his personal space to meet his eyes, which are filled with heart-wrenching desolation. Popping up onto her tip-toes, she raises her hand to brush against his shimmering dark green covert feathers - and presses her lips to his gently.

The kiss they share is soft and desperate, laced with anguish and grief that can only result from two soulmates tearing themselves apart. Fire licks though Felicity’s veins as she feels Oliver’s beautiful wings curl around her, cradling her back as he frantically deepens the kiss like a man searching for an anchor to this world; his arms wrap around her waist, pulling her to him, as if he’s afraid that by letting her go, she’ll never return. The heat is hastily chased away by ice and heartache once Felicity realizes that this could very well be the very last time she ever kisses Oliver.

They’re forced to break apart to breathe, gulping down rich mouthfuls of oxygen, but they remain in place for a moment, resting their foreheads against each other tenderly. Felicity shivers when she hears Oliver release a tremulous gasp, retracting his arms from around her to rest his hands on her hips delicately. His wings withdraw, muscles bunching to pull them in uncomfortably to his spine - out of reach. When Oliver eventually pushes her away, Felicity feels the shining silver chain linking their souls together pull taut, close to snapping.

Quiet and crushed from the inside out, Felicity takes her leave. She doesn’t turn back, in fear that if she sees Oliver staring at her with those stunning yet miserable blue eyes of him, she won’t be able to make herself go. She feels the winged vigilante’s gaze linger on her as she slowly climbs the staircase towards the exit, her chest impossibly tight. 

It’s only once Felicity gets back home in her apartment and shakily clambers into bed that she allows herself to curl up into a ball in the darkness and break down sobbing.


	2. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Felicity finally talk and after a serious discussion, resolve their relationship issue. Then there's wing grooming and kissing and bed-sharing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im back as promised with part 2 which is..... still a lil angsty BUT ITS ALSO FLUFFY AND HAS A HAPPY ENDING OKAY
> 
> thank you once again to masque for being so incredible and amazing and giving me access to her sandbox for this universe to play around in whenever i want. flying high might be one of my fav au verses ever

Felicity likes to think she’s a rather patient and considerate person, but five days have passed since she and her courting partner have gone on a relationship break… and she’s ready to storm down into the Foundry and demand an answer from Oliver, who apparently hasn’t made his decision on whether or not he wants to actually break up with her yet. She hasn’t seen the winged vigilante since that terrible, awful day, worried that he might not be able to mentally handle it considering his latest triggered PTSD episode.

She misses him immensely, and hopes that he’s missing her too. She misses his hugs, their cuddles in his nest in the Foundry, the peaceful and restful hours they spend allopreening, the way he wraps her up in his wings to keep her warm and shielded from the monsters of the dark. She misses his beautiful blue eyes being filled with happiness, his playful smiles when they tease each other. She misses his protective hovering, despite the fact that it was occasionally annoying and she would end up with feathers stuck in her keyboard. Sleepless nights plague her as Felicity wonders whether or not their relationship will survive this mini gargantuan hiccup. 

In all honesty, she thinks she’ll be devastated if Oliver decides they should end their courting. All she wants to do is reach out and help him, offer him comfort and support and reassurance, but Felicity knows sometimes, her partner just needs time to himself. Sometimes, despite it having a negative impact on his anxiety and depression… Oliver just wants to be alone, and she has to respect that.

Diggle thinks she should directly confront him. He’s been bringing technical equipment from the Foundry to her apartment every day for her to work on, and helping her install remote updates to all her programs by transporting portable drives back and forth. If he’s avoiding Oliver when he’s furiously exercising, he’ll stay some evenings and enjoy a glass of red wine with her. Tonight, he’s come with two broken comm units she needs to fix and Chinese take-out. While Felicity fiddles with the wiring of the units at the kitchen table, he sits across from her and praises her patience while picking at her leftover chow mein.

“Aren’t you tired of waiting for him to get his head out of his ass and make a decision?” Diggle asks her with a raised eyebrow. “It’s nearly been a week and he hasn’t given you an answer. Can’t you just march down into the Foundry and insist on discussing things? Communication is key in relationships, after all.”

“Oliver doesn’t do well when he’s confronted,” she sighs. Sticking her tongue out, Felicity concentrates for a second on wiggling her mini screwdriver to dig a fried wire out. “He hates being backed into a corner. It seriously triggers his PTSD. And he’s already struggling with his mental health right now. If I force him to talk to me, he’ll close off instead of opening up and he’s likely to lash out at me like he did the other day.” She pauses, slowly putting her screwdriver down before questioning her friend nervously, “How is he?”

“A wreck,” Diggle replies wryly. “Physically and mentally. He’s abandoned your shared nest and is _roosting_ in the structural beams, so is barely sleeping. He doesn’t eat unless I remind him too. Out on patrol, he’s losing control and beating the shit out of gangbangers and drug dealers. He snapped at Lance yesterday when they rendezvoused on their usual rooftop discuss your Triad intel and keeps growling at me - that’s not even starting on the state of his wings.”

Felicity’s heart constricts in dread. “Oh no. What’s happened to his wings?”

“Well, he’s either entering a partial molt, or his feathers are falling out from stress,” Diggle grimaces. “He’s refusing to self-preen because I guess he’s used to you grooming them for him… it wouldn’t surprise me if soon they become unfit for flight.” He leans forward to emphasise, “Even _Lance_ said something, Felicity. He was worried that Oliver’s wings were injured by people shooting at him or trying to net him out of the sky. He asked for you, of course, when I picked up, and you could tell he was truly concerned. Probably even more concerned when I told him you’re on a break at the moment.”

She has to admit that she feels a little betrayed and let down. Oliver promised her the last time they saw each other that he wouldn’t hurt himself or do something stupid; not eating and sleeping, and neglecting his wings, are incredibly foolish things for him to be doing, and definitely count as a form of self-harm. Maybe he doesn’t realize that, but she’s tried to teach him the importance of prioritizing taking care of himself, so there’s no reason why he would be missing out on vital actions needed to maintain his peak health unless he’s doing it on purpose. She might have to step in, if it gets really bad.

“I’ll give it until the end of the week,” she says tensely. That’s two days' time. “If he doesn’t improve or come to me by then, I’ll go and talk to him. Can you please...”

Diggle interrupts but also finishes her sentence, “Keep an eye on him and report back to you?” When she nods, he rests one of his huge hands on top of Felicity’s smaller ones, squeezing it gently. “Of course. You know I hate seeing you two so miserable. Oliver might get irritated if he thinks I’m hanging around to check on him, though. He only tolerates the sentiment from you.”

In the end, Felicity doesn’t need to wait two days to stage an intervention with the winged vigilante. In fact, she doesn’t even need to wait two hours. About ten minutes after Diggle takes his leave a little past midnight, telling her fondly but sternly to get some sleep, Felicity lets out a shocked yelp when she hears knocking on her bedroom window. Her heart hammering in her chest from being startled, she hastily rushes back into the kitchen to grab a knife, just in case somebody is trying to break in; approaching the window carefully, she whips the curtains back and wields the blade in warning.

Oliver blinks at her from the other side of the glass. He’s contorted himself awkwardly to fit onto the narrow fire escape, arching his wings uncomfortably because his position doesn’t allow him to tuck them into his spine. His hair is wild like a bird’s nest and the visible black bags beneath his dull eyes are alarming. When Felicity just stares at him, in disbelief that he’s _here_ , on her _fire escape_ , after _five days of nothing_ , he offers her a tremulous smile and taps on the window pointedly. It’s a silent request for permission to be let inside.

It takes a couple of minutes for Felicity to unlock the window. It functions as one of her apartment’s fire escapes and Oliver insisted that she keep it securely shut the last time he was here. Once it’s open, she steps back, wincing as the vigilante attempts to clamber through it. Oliver has to extend one of his wings through the gap first, squeezing his body through after and then painfully yanking the other wing in with a muttered curse. Felicity has to cover her mouth to stifle her sudden laughter; it’s almost comical how the vigilante's enormous wings barely fit inside her small bedroom, forcing him to hunch his shoulders to avoid knocking things off her bedside counter with his extra limbs.

“Hi,” Oliver breathes, deciding its much safer to stay in one place with his wings drooping down to the floor, where they can’t clip anything. He runs his bloodshot eyes up and down her, as if he’s checking her over for injuries. Even now, after everything that happened, he’s concerned for her well-being.

“Hi,” she parrots. The lights are off, her reading lamp casting a dim glow throughout the space, but its enough brightness for Felicity to see the sorry state of his wings, with all their ruffled, twisted feathers. She doesn’t really know what to say to him. Asking him how he is or what he’s doing here seems superfluous. In the end, she ends up commenting dumbly, “I wasn’t expecting you to come here.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, and Felicity knows it the moment it leaves her mouth. Flickering his eyes back to the window agitatedly, as if he’s already planning his escape, Oliver says in a quiet, small voice, “I’m sorry. If you were busy I - I can go, come back another -”

“No!” she cuts him off. She’s frightened that if he leaves, he might not actually return. “I’m…” Felicity swallows. “I’m really happy to see you.”

Oliver nods in acknowledgment, his wings fluttering weakly behind him. A heavy, strained silence falls between them. They’re both standing defensively opposite each other, and Felicity wonders whether or not she should prompt him to sit on the edge of the bed with her. But when she twitches, about to move, the vigilante flinches, unsettled. He’s incredibly anxious and on edge, like a scared animal about to bolt. Felicity hates it when he gets like this. Not because he _does_ , because she entirely understands that his trauma makes him easy to startle and wary of potential threats, but because she’s still in the process of learning what Oliver can tolerate when he’s having PTSD episodes. This doesn’t exactly seem like one of those at the moment - to her eyes, he’s simply nervous - but she’d rather be cautious all the same.

“You know I love you, right?” he suddenly asks.

“Of course I do,” Felicity replies, confused. “You never stop reminding me of that. I love you too. You know _that_ , right?”

He jerks his head in a sharp nod. “Yes. I just - I -” Oliver glances away, frustrated the words aren’t coming to him. Felicity smiles softly in encouragement. She’ll be patient for him. “I’m damaged, Felicity. I have a lot of trauma. I’m not used to… being loved by somebody, as much as you love me. This is the first time I’ve fallen so completely in love with somebody I feel like I’ve lost myself in them. Lost myself in _you_.”

“That’s okay,” she whispers. “I lost myself in you too, when we first got together. But we - we found ourselves, in each other. We make each other _stronger_ as a unit.”

He shoots her a lost look. It’s heart-wrenching. “But I feel more vulnerable around you than I’ve ever felt around anybody. And in my heart, I know that’s a good thing, because it means I trust you and I can open up to you… about anything. I can talk to you about how I’m feeling even though sort of thing terrifies me. But my brain, stupid and fractured as it is… there’s a voice in the back of my head that says it’s a bad thing, and it leaves me open to an attack.” He trails off. That uneasy silence settles between them again. Oliver breaks it by adding uncertainly, “I worked out what I would be willing to do to protect you.”

Felicity bites her lip. “What?”

“Destroy the world and burn society to the ground,” he answers, in a matter-of-fact voice.

It’s chilling but also… strangely calming to hear him say that. Maybe it’s because Felicity can’t imagine what it would look like, but feels weirdly like she would be willing to do the same for him.

“I don’t want to break up with you, Felicity,” Oliver says. Relief explodes through her body, almost sending Felicity to her knees. “I love you more than anything in the universe. But I know that I don’t deserve you. I never will. So in light of that, if you _want_ to be with me, I would be overjoyed, but if you don’t, I understand.”

Okay, this… is something she’s thought about a lot. Oliver’s insistence that he doesn’t deserve her. She’s spent hours standing and losing herself in thought in the shower, until the water’s run cold, so she can pick apart his argument piece by piece and rationalize a new one to him when the time comes. And that time is now.

Felicity slowly reaches a hand out to him. Oliver thankfully doesn’t cringe back from it, but he hesitates to take it. “Oliver… sit down with me?”

It takes Felicity collapsing onto the end of the bed and sitting cross-legged to prompt him to join her, stretching and flaring his wings so he can slide onto the mattress and curl his legs beneath him. Oliver slips his hand into hers when she motions for him to do so; he visibly relaxes when they entwine their fingers. The contact between them has always been comforting and caring, and it’s the same even now.

“What I think you need to do is stop thinking about what you _deserve_ ,” Felicity begins in a clear and even tone, looking into Oliver’s eyes deeply. “Because what you and other people do is base what they think they deserve on what they think they’re worth. Now for some people, who have great confidence in themselves, this is a good thing, because they self-value themselves highly. But for people who have poor self-esteem due to trauma, anxiety, depression or other means, it’s a bad thing, because they self-value themselves too low. Instead, what you need to be thinking about is what you _need_ and what you _want_ , instead of what you deserve.” The vigilante cocks his head curiously at her. “And it’s my personal opinion that what you need and what you want are interconnected and they overlap. What you _need_ is what you require to not only survive, but live and exist safely, comfortably and healthily - taking into account both your physical and mental health. What you _want_ amplifies that and increases your happiness in that situation. And you can both need and want something at the same time. And those needs and wants are not based on what you think you’re worth… they’re based instead on your own personal living experience and enjoyment of it. Those are _much_ more important than what you think you deserve, which can be distorted.” Exhaling steadily once she finishes, Felicity tugs on her partner’s hand and questions gently, “So, Oliver… what do you need and want?”

His response is quick but comes out as a tearful croak, “ _You_.”

“Good,” she replies airily. “Because what I need and want is you, too. And if we both need and want each other, then we’re on the same page.” She leans in to add, “Oh, and by the way, I think you _do_ deserve me, if that still matters to you. After all the bad cards you’ve drawn in life so far, I think you are a much, much better person than you give yourself credit for.”

“But I kill people,” Oliver says. He looks distraught. Because he knows that upsets her. He probably thinks it could be a breaking point. “I’ve killed before, Felicity, and I’ll kill again.”

Felicity thinks this over for a moment, peering down at their joined hands. “I don’t _want_ you to kill people, because I do think it’s wrong,” she responds, glancing up at him seriously. “But like I said before, I can’t judge you for what you do when I don’t understand the circumstances. What I _need_ is for you to come back safely to me every night. So what I _want_ AND _need_ … is for you to do whatever you think is necessary to protect innocents and ensure you can always return home. That’s what I care about the most.”

“Most humans would think that I’m a monster for taking lives,” he stutters.

“Well, _I_ definitely don’t think you’re a monster,” she replies, affronted on his behalf. “And I hope you don’t either! A majority of the media outlets in Starling City, and even the _police_ , think you’re an avenging guardian angel, sent from the heavens to obliterate crime in your territory. But I suppose if they really are going to call you that… then you’re _my_ monster. I think the more accurate term would be my _angel_ , though.”

Oliver emits a practically _feral_ sound, and with a flurry of feathers, tackles her onto her back on the bed, crashing his mouth to hers. He captures her lips in a searing kiss with a faint growl rumbling from his throat as he hovers over her on all fours, his knee slipping between her thighs and head bowed down to kiss her passionately. The vigilante’s wings tower over them like a shield. He leans on his right forearm just above her shoulder as his fingertips brush through her hair - allopreening, she thinks dazedly, something amazingly intimate the two of them share. Felicity finds herself sinking into the kiss with pleasure, her whole body tingling. She raises her legs to wrap them around Oliver’s waist when he uses his left hand beneath her knee to hike her closer to him, while sneaking her arms beneath his to stroke her fingers through his coverts; the way he shudders at her touch makes her smile into the kiss.

When they break apart, panting, Felicity murmurs, “So I guess you’re not breaking up with me?”

“Sometimes tells me you wouldn’t me let, either way.”

“No, I would, if it was what you wanted,” she corrects.

“I don’t -” Oliver cuts himself off, grimacing.

“You were about to say that you don’t deserve me,” Felicity says knowingly. She forces him off the top of her and maneuvers the vigilante onto his side so his wings hang off the edge of the bed. “We’re absolutely going to break your habit of saying that out of you.”

He snickers, giving her a chaste but sweet kiss. “Am I allowed to say that I’m lucky to have you, instead?”

“Hmm, yeah, we can work with that.”

His expression grows more serious. “I’m sorry I pushed you away. I’m sorry I yelled at you - and tried to scare you. Diggle told me that intimidating people with my wings is disrespectful and rude, and that I shouldn’t do it anymore. I _never_ should have tried to do it with you. I need to learn more anger management, so I can communicate better.”

“Hey,” she soothes him. “You’ve already come so far, Oliver. When we first met, you communicated mostly through grunts and snarls! Yes, you talked, but you primarily used body language as your communicator. Dig and I had to figure out what you were thinking and feeling mainly from your actions. Now we have full conversations where you vocalize your thoughts and emotions instead! It’s a constant learning process, but you’ve already improved.”

The vigilante perks up hearing the praise and beams at her. It causes Felicity’s heart to jolt in glee; nothing brings her more joy than seeing Oliver happy. It’s something that used to be remarkably rare, but has increased in frequency these days. After his PTSD meltdown earlier in the week, she was worried she might not get to see it again for a long time.

“Thank you for being so patient with me,” he smiles.

“Always,” she promises. Sitting up, Felicity pushes Oliver back down when he tries to rise as well. “No, you’re going to stay on the bed and shuffle over to lie on the other side so your wings are laid out for me to preen them. Dig told me you haven’t groomed at all this week, and it’s easy to tell.”

He sighs, looking up at her with puppy dog eyes. “You’re my molt companion and feather guardian… I don’t like grooming without you.”

“You need to, just to keep up basic maintenance,” she admonishes him lightly. “They look horrible right now. That needs to be rectified, immediately.” 

Oliver purrs deeply like a cat as Felicity begins carefully sorting the undersides of his wings, running her fingers through his feathers to layer and straighten them. Very quickly, she switches over to autopilot, muscle memory in her hands guiding her. She works methodically to unravel clumps and knots of dark green feathers, flattening out the twisted ones so they lie in line with the others.

“Diggle said you’ve been stress molting, and that soon you wouldn’t have been able to fly,” she muses aloud.

“No, I would have still been able to fly,” the vigilante replies, his voice muffled by her pillow. “My primaries and secondaries weren’t falling out. Those are my flight feathers, that give me lift and thrust to get off the ground. It’s my _tertiaries_ that have been dropping… I don’t have a tail to use for steering and balance mid-flight so my tertiaries have adapted for that function. If I lose tertiaries, I lose flight control. I’d be able to get into the air - but before long I’d spiral down and crash.”

Felicity’s hands halt, buried in his feathers as she stares down at him in numb horror. “That’s horrifying.”

“When we were children, being raised in the lab, they used to clip our tertiaries,” Oliver continues tersely. “They called it tertialing. It was to stop us from flying away when they let us outside for exercise. We could manage to get about eight feet off the ground, but any higher than then and we’d fall out of the sky. I broke my arm three times, my ankle once and sprained my right wing trying to get over the exercise yard walls. When I was a teenager I used to think that leaping off a cliff with tertialed wings would have been the only way to end all the suffering. But I was too brave, or too cowardly, to go through with it.”

“I’m so sorry.” Felicity’s voice cracks as she imagines a tiny blond boy with too big wings crying because he was trapped in a prison with strangers in white coats experimenting on him. She can’t get the dark image of an older teenager, with the saddest blue eyes, stretching wings out that wouldn’t allow save him if he decided to jump to his death, out of her head. Tears fill her eyes and she gently strokes her knuckles over Oliver’s arm in an attempt to reassure herself that he’s safe now, he escapes from those terrible people and she’ll fight for him if they ever come back.

“I’m with you now,” he answers quietly. “I don’t ever have to worry about being tertialed again.”

“I will never let that happen to you, I swear.”

“I know. I trust you. I love you. You and Dig will protect me.” He grasps her wrist lightly and kisses the inside, on her pulse point. “Thank you.” 

A little bit of his own preening oil untangles some particularly stubborn feathers; his wings radiate warmth and twitch beneath her touch, going completely boneless. It takes Felicity twenty minutes to groom the underside of each wing - the annoyed grumble Oliver lets out when she has to wake him up to get him to flip over makes her laugh - and then another hour to finish the oversides. The vigilante spends those sixty minutes lying on his belly, dozing peacefully.

Once she’s finished, Felicity changes into her pajamas, keeping an eye on the vigilante. He’s half-sleep, snuffling into one of her pillows. After a quick trip into the bathroom to take her make-up off, wash her face and free her hair, she returns to the bedroom; Felicity squirms beneath Oliver’s right wing so she’s flopped on the bed on her front next to him, his wing draped like a blanket over her back. Twisting onto her side, she curls up next to him with a hum of contentment

“Will you stay the night?” she mumbles, kissing his shoulder.

He turns his head minutely to glance at her with sleepy half-lidded eyes. “Until dawn,” he replies with a yawn. “Still needs to be dark when I fly back to the Foundry. Do you mind if I stay?”

Felicity knows how exhausted he must be if he hasn’t been sleeping over the past week, and how physically fatigued his body is since he’s been non-stop patrolling. “I’d love to have you in my bed for the night.” Instantly, she flushes from embarrassment, closing her eyes. “Just to sleep! Not for - other activities. I’m not going to pressure you into anything. I don’t want to do anything. No, I don’t mean it like that! I don’t mean that I don’t want -! I _do_ want - I’m just gonna shut up.”

Oliver chuckles, kissing the blush off both her cheeks and then delicately kissing her eyelids. He flexes his wing on top of her so it covers her more equally. His dark feathers are so insulating that Felicity feels like she’s covered by a huge down quilt. “I love you,” he says simply.

“I love you too,” she snuggles up to him. “Wake me up before you have to leave so I can make you breakfast, okay? I mean, it’ll probably just be toast, but at least I’ll be making sure you’re eating. I would suggest we shower together but I don’t think you’d be able to fit your wings into my bathroom… that thirty-foot wingspan of yours makes it almost impossible for you to fit into any room apart from the Foundry.” She prods him with a pout when she sees that he’s laughing at her again. “Go to sleep, mister! You need the rest!”

“I’ll sleep when you stop poking me,” Oliver snorts, raising his left forearm so he can lie on it and use his right to pull Felicity more tightly into his side. “Do you want to turn your lamp off?”

“Ah. Right. Good idea.”

She shuffles out from under her partner’s wing so she can stretch out and switch the lamp off, casting them into darkness. Felicity creates an alarm on her phone for half an hour before the sun rises so the two of them don’t oversleep and then huddles up to Oliver again. “Just to check,” she whispers. “You are _not_ breaking up with me and we’re staying together?”

“Felicity Smoak,” he murmurs, drawing her into the protective embrace of his strong arms. “I am never _ever_ going to let you go again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> really hope you enjoyed xx thank you for reading. would super appreciate it you left kudos or a comment!!
> 
> stay safe everybody and STAY AT HOME
> 
> twitter: @lexiblackbriar  
> tumblr: @alexiablackbriar13
> 
> come yell at me lol

**Author's Note:**

> ........... i did say i was sorry?
> 
> twitter: @lexiblackbriar  
> tumblr: alexiablackbriar13


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